


A father's lament

by The_flabbergasting_blobb_of_fluffyness



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: DAWN Trailer, Gen, SO SAD, Spoilers, Too much tragedy, pre-game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2021-01-30 19:43:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21433669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_flabbergasting_blobb_of_fluffyness/pseuds/The_flabbergasting_blobb_of_fluffyness
Summary: '15 years ago, fate would fall to the father and son of Lucis. As the stars chose the son to be their light, the father could but hold him and mourn his destiny.'The destiny of the Chosen is revealed to the King.Warning: HEAVY SPOILERS for endgame
Relationships: Noctis Lucis Caelum & Regis Lucis Caelum
Comments: 3
Kudos: 31





	A father's lament

**Author's Note:**

> My first published fic ever - so excited!  
Also english is not my first language, so let me know how I'm doing
> 
> Inspired by the final scene of the game and the Dawn-trailer

**Regis Lucis Caelum CXIII **

**15 years before the Fall**

The comfort of sleep had barely enveloped him, dragging him away from the worries of the day and gifting him a moment of reprieve from the burdens of the crown he had gotten used to bear – as the rumbling call of the Draconian cracked through his head with a blinding pain. There were not many occasions which demanded for him to speak with the entity inside the Crystal, and even less that moved Bahamut to seek him out on his own accord. But he recognized the calling that would not be denied. The King left his chambers on quiet feet. The guards at the doors to the Crystal’s vault looked at him in surprise, but they let him pass with nothing more than a polite bow of their heads. The stone greeted him with warm light as he touched it and he let himself be pulled away into the vision that followed.

He was standing in the throne room. It looked familiar and alien at the same time. Alien because he had never seen it in this state of destruction before – a part of the wall right next to the throne had caved in, there was rubble and dust covering the floor. Through the hole in the wall, Regis could see the night sky pressing down on Insomnia, glowing with a sickly green hue. Something told him that the city had seen nothing but this dark swirling green for a very, very long time.

THE PROPHECIED HOUR HAS COME. THE CHOSEN WILL ASCEND TO THE THRONE AND BANISH THE DARKNESS.

As if on cue, the heavy doors opened, disturbing the fine layer of dust on the stone floor. A man walked in, slowly, his carefully measured steps betraying weariness and determination at the same time. Regis recognized the elegant yet worn black attire even before he caught a glimpse of the Ring of the Lucii on the man’s finger.

So this was the Chosen King. The descendant of his line that was to heal the star of its scourge and banish the darkness. He was not a tall man. His shoulders seemed not broad enough to carry such a weight. His black suit hugged his body like it was meant to be there, giving him an air of dignity and grace – but it also made his small frame look even thinner in front of the heavy ornaments of the room.

The man climbed the stairs to the throne, oblivious to Regis’s presence. He stopped right next to him, brushing his fingers over the throne’s armrest with a deep breath. Now, Regis could study his face more closely. It was angular and pale, jaw and cheeks dusted with a thin beard. The greyish-blue eyes were almost hidden by a few stray strands of black hair. He looked… young. Fatigue made him seem older, but underneath the worried lines on his skin and the dirt on his face, there was a man who could not have seen more than three decades. Such little time to grow into such a great destiny. The face felt familiar, even though Regis could not pinpoint why.

‘I’m home’, the Chosen said in a quiet voice.

‘I walked tall.’

For some reason, the words sent a shiver down Regis’s spine.

‘And though it took me a while… I’m ready now.’

The Chosen took his place on the throne. There was a small hesitation in the movement, as if he expected something to happen, some burst of light or maybe the same pain he must have felt when he had first put on the ring. But then he relaxed slightly into his new position and it seemed right. Like in this moment, everything fell into place. He didn’t look small and lost anymore. The heavy stone he sat on did not belittle but elevate him, framing him in a display of strength. Power emanated from his body, and Regis could not remember ever feeling awe like this except maybe in the face of the Crystal itself. The Chosen did not seem to notice. He lowered his gaze, deep in thoughts or maybe memories.

‘I love you all’, he said, his voice quiet but clear. ‘Luna, guys…’

Regis’s heart seemed to constrict in his chest.

_Luna? Lunafreya? _

_No. _

_Could it be?_

‘…Dad.’

The Chosen had not looked at Regis, had not acknowledged his presence. Yet he spoke directly to him, the word tearing right through his body as realization hit.

He barely noticed the light that started to leak from the ring, the crystalline shapes of weapons flickering in the air, the almost unnoticeable crackle of magic in the atmosphere growing stronger. He only stared at his thirty-year-old son and tried to see the familiar, energetic little boy in his haggard face.

_Oh, my son. What has happened to you?_

‘The time we had together, I cherish.’

He wanted to reach out, lay his hand on the other man’s shoulder in reassurance, even if he was a stranger to him. Their time together had barely started yet after all, much of it would sink into oblivion as the boy would grow up. Regis could not fathom what he would have to live through to get here, he could only see the traces of the past trials etched into his face. It hurt to see his son like that, but his heart was lightened by the fact that at least, Noctis would still love him in the end.

The Chosen raised his head. Silvery light washed the dark colour from his hair, painting it grey. There was power in his voice as he spoke, power that was not to be denied.

‘Kings of Lucis.’

There was a whisper in the air, swelling to the point where it became maddening. The Chosen opened his eyes. They glowed red, soaked in magic.

‘Come to me!’

A sword appeared in his hand, Regis’s sword, and he thrust it into the ground to his feet. As the blade rang out against the stone, twelve fragments seemed to break away from the weapon, scattering in a wide circle around the throne. Each of the fragments took the form of a glaive, burning with a ghostly blue fire. Their wielders rose behind them, each larger than life and clad in armour that hid their faces. The Kings of times past surrounded the throne in silence.

The ache in Regis’s heart at his son’s burden washed away. The man on the throne was majestic, he was powerful and determined. He was the King of Kings. He felt pride and awe, elation at the sight of the man his little boy would grow into.

Until the first of the wraiths rose in front of the throne, his sword pointed at the Chosen. He could not react. He could not move. He was frozen in place next to the throne, forced to watch as the sword of blue light ran through his son’s chest, forced to hear the muffled sound of pain as the slim body was thrown backwards by the impact, one of his hands almost slipping from the winged hilt he was holding. As the blade struck, the glaive itself and the ghostly silhouette of its wielder dissipated into a bright light that was greedily sucked up by the ring.

Blade after blade struck, and Regis could only bear silent witness to how sounds of pain escaping between clenched teeth turned into desperate coughs as his son fought for air, how his body struggled to regain posture between the strikes, how his hands slowly but surely slipped from the hilt of the sword he had clung onto the whole time. The last attack had him hunched over, with not enough strength left to sit up again. His head hung down, his face veiled by black hair. The laboured breaths he was able to force into his lungs were the only sound in the silence that had fallen over the room once more.

The sword lay in his hands. He extended his arm, offering the winged hilt. It was pointed at Regis.

_No. _

_Please, no. _

_I can’t. _

_Anything but that._

‘Dad.’

The Chosen’s voice – Noctis’s voice – was barely more than a whisper. But it rang in the silence of the room louder than thunder. If Regis had been able to move, he would have trembled. His mind was still trying to deny what was happening, but his heart already knew. Horror washed through him, and he thrashed and fought against the invisible bounds holding him, not a single muscle obeying his will.

‘Believe in me.’

His body moved on its own.

He was facing the throne. Blue fire was engulfing him, and his sword was in his hand, heavy and trusted.

_No, please, Astrals, no. _

_You can’t make me do this._

The blade was raised. Its tip pointed at the small figure sitting on the throne – hunched over, unable to move, unable to defend itself.

_You can’t take him. _

_Not like this._

The man on the throne raised his head and looked at him. Regis could see his face clear as day – the face of a five-year-old boy, smiling up at him with the unconditional trust of a child. It lasted only a split-second before he felt his body rushing forward.

_Please, don’t take him away from me. _

_He is my son. _

_He is my SON!_

The blade struck.

A strangled noise escaping from a raw throat.

The thud of a body being thrown against the backrest of the throne by the impact.

The crunching sound as the sword embedded itself into the stone.

And then silence.

The sun rose, golden rays caressing a world that started to heal in front of Regis’s eyes. But he could only stare at his shattered heart lying in front of him. A King with the face of a little boy; his big blue eyes, once so full of joy and wonder, closed forevermore.

He would rather watch the world burn.

He would burn it to the ground with his own hands before having it take away his son.

But he could not.

Because he was King.

As he opened his eyes again and looked around the vault as if seeing it for the first time, he felt hollow. His heart was empty, had been ripped from his chest. He rose and walked down the familiar hallways, ignoring the concerned looks of the guards. He entered his son’s room as quietly as he could, watching the small figure under the covers breathe and squirm softly in its sleep. He sunk down on his knees next to the bed, trembling fingers running through soft raven hair. The boy in front of him was warm and alive. Full of innocence and hope and eagerness to finally, finally grow up and see what the world had in store for him. Regis closed his eyes, tears sliding down his cheeks and painting dark circles on the fabric of the pillow, right next to his son’s face.

He would have burned the world to the ground with his own hands to save him.

But in the silence of the night, he could but hold him and mourn his destiny.

**Author's Note:**

> Phew, made it. Thanks for reading!


End file.
